


Fertility Rights

by frogfarm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992), House M.D.
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-01
Updated: 2007-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A parking lot rescue by an unauthorized brunette wearing scrubs. A Hellmouth threatening to open under Princeton-Plainsborough. And a dean of medicine just trying to do her job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fertility Rights

**Author's Note:**

> Post-"Chosen"/post-"Who's Your Daddy".

Cuddy's heels echo from the walls of the empty parking garage, each step a reminder of how much she despises the damn things. Pain and footbinding issues aside, today's board meeting made them near mandatory, and she can't deny the usefulness of any additional distractions when dealing with House.

Though all that seems less important compared to the creeping, nervous feeling as she approaches her car, one hand on the pepper spray in her bag; wishing she was low enough profile to get away with at least a taser. Of course the potential liability, personal and professional, is too great. Not to mention negative publicity.

She unlocks the door, stares into the window, squinting against reflected flourescent. Nothing. And yet a shadow looms, behind --

Her heel descends, satisfaction blurring panic at the yell of pain. Iron hands grip her shoulders and she points the canister over one shoulder, hears her attacker choke and gag; triumph turning to terror as he hurls her into the side of the car.

The alarm blares to life and she falls to the ground, one heel breaking as she scrabbles for her cellphone. His face ripples and twists in the dim light, into a starving animal --

He throws back his head with a grunt. Looks confused, and then _vanishes_ , in a cloud of dust. Which settles to reveal a grim-looking but cocky brunette standing over her, dressed in nurse's scrubs, holding a pointy stick in one upraised hand.

The woman looks her over, gaze lingering on her legs. Lisa blushes, accepts the other hand and rises, smoothing out her skirt, and already she can tell something isn't kosher.

"You don't work here."

The brunette smiles, not at all ashamed.

"Busted."

 

* * *

 

Not that Faith holds back, once she learns who the woman in charge is around these parts. Fills Cuddy in on the whole magilla, from Slayers to Hellmouths, the latter of which is apparently ready to open up under _her_ goddamned hospital. Faith swears she still needs to do research, tries in vain to get Cuddy to let her go undercover as a nurse's aide. Aside from the bottomless legal can of worms, Lisa recognizes a practical prison education; isn't too afraid Faith will kill someone, at least by accident. On purpose? Depends how much distance they can keep between her and House.

To the surprise of neither, Cuddy stands firm; insists on Faith taking the role of a Jane Doe patient. With some obvious, boring condition -- say, nutritional deficit -- that can be quickly and easily corrected.

Something that won't draw attention.

 

* * *

 

She catches House outside the room, looking through the glass at a sleeping Slayer, tapping Faith's chart against his good leg.

"What about this case could possibly interest you?"

"I noticed you were the admitting physician." His gaze never wavers. Doubly impressive, given her crossed arms. "I found that of interest."

"After that last stunt you pulled, I'd be more interested in getting back on my boss's good side."

"As long as I'm the one administering your injections? I'd say I'm already there."

"House, if you aren't in that clinic in the next ten minutes --"

" _Jawohl_ , Ilsa. Be still my heart." Which he places his hand over, snapping a quick salute before turning and limping away down the hall.

She heads in to find Faith still out like a light. Turns to shut the blinds, when a sultry voice nearly twitches her out of her skin.

"He's a cutie. Can see why ya like him."

She turns, leveling a glare that should wither any grin.

"I respect Greg as a consummate professional at being a pain in my ass. And the best doctor on staff."

Faith smiles, sad and knowing.

"I got the same problem."

 

* * *

 

The quiet lasts until lunchtime, when Dr. Cameron catches a bored, hungry Slayer hooking herself up to the unused machinery in her room. No sooner has Cuddy finished dressing down the staff who didn't have it removed in a timely fashion when she's receiving a page from Foreman, about a patient trying to pick the lock on the door to the roof.

In a desperate attempt at pre-empting further trouble, and based on years of experience with House, she offers a bribe.

"You don't like hospital food? Fine. One unhealthy meal of your choice, deliverered. Just keep a lid on it until tonight."

"Bad idea. We're on a schedule, and if I don't get what I need before sunset --"

"Let me guess. The world ends?"

For the first time, Faith doesn't look amused. "Let's just say the odds get a lot worse."

 

* * *

 

She's on her way back to her office, still trying to wrap her head around it all, when she overhears them out on Wilson's balcony.

"Cameron still playing Nancy Drew with the new patient?"

"Obviously, I'm not working her hard enough." House takes a bite of his sandwich. She's about to move on, except he might mention her. Talk about juvenile.

"Think you've got a shot?"

Wilson chokes on his lemonade. "With Jane Doe?"

"Come on. You really think co-workers are safer than patients?"

"You're serious." She can picture James shaking his head, wondering from which direction to defend himself. "She's barely old enough to drink."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Greg pops a pill and sips his coffee. "Even for Allison? There is such a thing as too damaged."

 

* * *

 

Cuddy doesn't make it back to the room before sunset, having been waylaid by a well-meaning chatterbox nursing supervisor. The bed is empty, concern becoming possible fear at the sight of the open door. She climbs the stairs two at a time, thinking that if this is the day the world will end she at least picked a sensible pair of pants.

Instead of a nuclear sunset, she finds Faith, perilously close to the edge of the roof, dressed in dark jeans and denin jacket. Also on a cellphone, sounding downright Chatty Kathy.

Turns out to be a video phone. Despite the pixelation, the redhead on the other end looks to be fighting smiles. Her eyes drift to Cuddy's pendant, Star of David nestled amongst generous cleavage.

"I'm sure I don't have to give you the whole Mission Impossible spiel --"

"Miss Rosenberg -- as long as my hospital is safe? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"Thanks for backing up our girl."

Lisa looks over to Faith, who immediately looks away.

"I didn't do anything."

Willow smiles. "You trusted her."

Faith stares out over the city after hanging up. Still uncomfortably close to the edge; contemplating the fall, until Lisa takes her by one hand, pulls her away. She doesn't know what it is that makes her take the other woman in her arms, try to smooth away the worry lines, all too deep for her age. Then Faith is kissing her, and nothing matters any more.

If it ever did.

 

* * *

 

She doesn't pretend this is in any way acting on impulse. Sex on the roof, in her office, on rehab equipment -- those qualify as impulse. Driving home slowly and carefully is not only far from impulsive, it gives the ache in her belly time to simmer, and by the time they're pulling up in front of her house she's more than ready to fuck and be fucked right there in the car. Neighbors be damned. Any lingering bashfulness evaporates long before they reach the bedroom; Faith just aggressive enough to encourage her to respond in kind.

She doesn't ask about the scar.

 

* * *

 

She goes to work in a turtleneck, still feeling the burn. She's in the middle of reviewing the report on House's latest fiasco when he barges in, plops down in a chair with a wince and just sits there, with an infuriating smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Looks like you finally helped yourself." He produces a syringe from his pocket. "Still want your shot?"

She considers.

"Yeah." A smile graces her lips. "Yeah. I do."

"Well, then. On your feet, my brave little soldier." His hand is steady at the small of her back; warm and reassuring, as he takes his usual sweet time.

"And will _madame_ be requiring any other assistance?"

She smiles over her shoulder.

"In your dreams."


End file.
